


In the jungle, baby (you're gonna die)

by ohfreckle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Military, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur gives up dreamsharing after the Inception job. His past in the military catches up with him, and that's only the beginning of his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the jungle, baby (you're gonna die)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2015 Inception Reversebang](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/) and [beautifulweddin](http://beautifulweddin.livejournal.com)'s lovely art.
> 
> Many thanks to Thorized for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own, because of course I couldn't stop myself from last-minute edits.

 

 

 

Arthur and surprises don’t go well together. It would be a lie to say that he doesn’t like them — well, he doesn’t, at least not on the business side of things — it’s just that at some point in his life as a point man it has become almost impossible to surprise him.

That’s why Arthur isn’t surprised at all to open his door to find two men wearing suits with a barely tolerable fit that just screams "government". He’d known all along it wouldn’t be that easy, that simply getting away with inception was just a rose-tinted fantasy. He just didn’t have the heart to let Cobb in on that little secret.

What does surprise him is how easily they have him on his knees. It would be downright humiliating, except that, contrary to what everybody thinks, he doesn’t make a habit out of answering the door with a loaded gun, not anymore at least, which turns out to be a grave negligence.

Still, Arthur does pride himself to be better than being outwitted by two middle-ranked field agents. Actually, he _is_ better than that. These aren’t agents from whatever agency is interested in dream sharing these days. He’s held immobile by nothing more than a well-placed punch to his sternum and two strong fingers pressing down behind his ears. He’s done the same thing more times than he can count in a different life.

Military.

Fuck.

xxx

"No!"

Arthur doesn’t even wait for a question. He doesn’t give a fuck about money or national security. He’s had enough of them messing around in his head to last him a life time. He still has the nightmares to prove it.

The taller guy, the one who’s not trying to make his skull explode, looks at him with a mild smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

"Then Cobb loses the kids."

"Fuck you," Arthur smiles, equally pleasant. Cobb is a lunatic, but he’s more than capable to take care of himself and his kids.

"What about the girl then?"

Everybody thinks that Arthur hooked up with Eames the second their plane touched down at LAX. The truth is, it was Ariadne he took home with him. He only had the one night with her, and that’s the only regret he has about it.

Arthur can feel the blood draining from his face, already going limp in defeat. He's fucked, his life a matter of FUBAR in the blink of an eye.

"Welcome back to Special Forces, Sergeant Harris. I'm your new superior, Officer Miller." Miller, whose name certainly is anything but Miller, smiles sharply at Arthur. "As you can probably guess we need your expertise on a project that was never finished. Help us and you're free to go."

Arthur stares at him blankly. The "and nobody else gets hurt" hangs in the air between them, tasting ugly and vile.

xxx

Dirt itches and tastes the same all around the globe. Arthur has almost forgotten about it, gone soft with the comfort of luxurious hotel rooms in the span of only a couple of years.

As bad as it is, the dirt isn’t by far the worst of it. The heat and humidity are stifling, had him sweating barely two minutes after he stepped from the plane in bumfuck-nowhere. Two hours and one truck ride later not a single stitch of his uniform is dry anymore, his brand new ACU pants sticking to his legs uncomfortably. He already misses the comfort of clothes that actually fit, but that small inconvenience will be forgotten in a few days once the real problems start.

xxx

"Fuck this shit!"

Arthur couldn’t agree more with his new neighbor’s assessment of their situation.

Jim reminds him of Eames, but that might be just his accent. Arthur has no idea what a Brit might do here in what looks to be the ass end of the Brazilian jungle, but then, he doesn’t know shit at all, least of all if this is an international operation or a purely American take on wasting the tax payer’s money. All he knows is that he’s once more on the military’s payroll until they deem this operation a success.

"If they just want to test equipment, why not do it in a training camp? Huh?"

"Probably for the same reason as always," Arthur says, and he doesn’t even have to force annoyance into his voice. "They just like to see us suffer."

xxx

Arthur actually didn’t lie to Jim.

He almost regrets it when he slides the needle into Jim’s wrist. Almost, but he’s already sick of the small camp they’ve set up: a cluster of tents, a truck that houses a small kitchen and technical equipment, an outdoor shower. It’s barely even the necessities, but if Arthur does this job right, it’ll be over soon enough. And that’s all it is, a job like any other. Granted, the circumstances are different from what he’s used to, but it’s not as if he hasn’t worked jobs he didn’t want to do.

"Is it going to harm him?" Miller asks. He's been watching Arthur slipping the sedative into Jim's instant coffee during what counts as breakfast here, but has neither interfered or offered to help. The rest of the team is off to scan their surroundings.

"The sedative and unknown hazardous drugs? If we're lucky, no." Arthur plugs himself in and arranges himself on the floor as comfortable as he can, ruthlessly tamping down on a rising feeling of dread at the fact that he's going to use an untested compund. "The fact that we're trying to make him lose his mind out of fear? Quite possibly, yes."

"You of all people should be able to grasp the enormous possibilities of this project," Miller says. He cocks his head, listening, but there's only the sound of the jungle outside.

"That's bullshit, and you know it. What gives you the idea that the outcome will be any different than five years ago? Project Somnacin was stopped for good reasons."

"You bailed on your comrades five years ago, Harris, have you forgotten?" Miller says coldly and pushes the button on the PASIV. "What gives you the impression that Project Somnacin was ever stopped?"

xxx

Arthur is a practical man. It's what makes him not just a good but an exceptional point man. He assesses situations and adapts.

The routine of life in a military camp comes back to Arthur feeling much like an old coat. Not especially great, a little scratchy, but not actually too terrible.

Much of Arthur’s days is spent running, shooting and tinkering with all kinds of equipment. He writes up reports about the durability of tents and bulletproof vests and the pros and cons of new rifles, color-coding everything carefully, because if the military insists on the farce of actually paying him he might just as well do it properly. He spends his evening with the team, sharing stories that never happened and tries not to think about what he’s going to dream for them tomorrow.

The dream is always the same: an eerie whistling sound before a figure that looks like it sprung out of the Predator franchise decimates the camp one by one. The details are more or less gruesome, depending on Arthur’s mood for the day, but it’s not the blood that leaves his comrades screaming anyway. Failing to keep one’s team safe is every soldier’s worst nightmare.

Arthur is no stranger to that, either.

xxx

“I still don’t see why we are doing this.” His complaint will go unheeded, but Arthur feels like it needs repeating.

“Of course you don’t,” Miller grouses, obviously as tired of the argument as Arthur himself. He arranges Corporal Benoit’s body on the floor of their small kitchen, his movements efficient and well-practiced. It’s not an ideal location, but the tents are too small to allow for three grown men, at least not without attracting unwanted attention.

“We’re not gathering any new information from this,” Arthur argues and he vaguely wonders when “you” turned into “we”. “Project Somnacin already proved that people subjected to extreme stress in dreams will react to the same triggers topside. You know how I know that? I was one of them.”

“Are you going to plug yourself in or do you need me to do it for you?”

Arthur frowns, but he slides the needle into his wrist and lies down next to Benoit. They both know it wasn’t a friendly offer. “You need to work on this formula, it leaves everyone useless for hours afterwards,” he says, which is putting it mildly. Even Yusuf’s experimental compounds didn’t make him feel out of his body like this one.

“They believe it’s the heat,” Miller waves him off, pushing the button before Arthur can complain that he, in fact, believes no such thing.

Thankfully Benoit is a fearful little man and it takes barely any effort from Arthur to make him run away and leave his comrades to be slaughtered once again, duty and honor be damned.

xxx

They start phase two of what Arthur calls in his head Project Get-the-fuck-off-my-back later.

Arthur feels sick with a strong sense of deja-vu while he watches and assesses the team’s reactions to the trigger sound echoing around them during a simple target practice.

To be honest, he’s impressed how most of them keep their fear in check, showing almost no reaction except the wild look in their eyes. Only Benoit shrieks like a piglet and takes off. Arthur feels almost sorry for him, because there will be hell to pay for him later when in fact he’s just the first one to break. In a month, several dreams and topside practices later, he’ll look like a hero compared to the rest of the team.

xxx

“So, what’s her name, Arthur?” Jim winks at him good-naturedly, waggling his brows.

“Fuck you,” Arthur says, taking a sip of lukewarm water. The few guys who haven’t crawled already into their tents, beat from a day of training, are shooting them curious glances. Arthur makes a mental note to mingle more with the team. He knows he’s too aloof and curiosity about himself is the last thing he needs, but it’s not as if he’s here out of his own free will.

“Oh come on, Arthur, my tent is next to yours. Must have been one hell of a dream.”

“It was,” Arthur smirks, draining his bottle before he stands. “And his name is Eames.”

The stunned silence that follows him to his tent is deafening. It’s quite enjoyable, although like every lie it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass later.

xxx

It’s not Eames’s face he imagines though when he slips his hand in his boxers. It’s Ariadne’s, always her face, her taste, her moans.

A military camp isn’t exactly a place to indulge in erotic fantasies. Arthur is quick and efficient about his pleasure, fisting his cock hard and tight, satisfying a physical necessity more than anything else. It’s still good and he comes with a muffled groan, imagining it’s Ariadne’s slick pussy pulsing around him instead of his too dry hand.

He feels content and sleepy afterwards, drifting in that soft space in which things he knows he’ll regret later actually sound like a good idea. Before he can overthink it he’s got his phone out. He doesn’t have a signal out here, but the satellite Wi-Fi is working just fine.

“Arthur?”

Ariadne blinks at him, looking awake and professional in a dotted blouse.

“Hey,” Arthur smiles. It’s good to see her, loosening a knot in his chest he didn’t even know was there. “You look like sunshine and daisies.”

“I’ve heard better lies from you,” she smirks. “I’ll have my first client pitch in four hours and I feel like haven’t slept in weeks.” She leans forward until only her eyes are filling the small screen, as if she somehow can see him better like this. “ _You_ look like you haven’t slept in months. Where are you? Is that a tent?” Ariadne narrows her eyes at him. She’s too smart for her own good. “Arthur, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Went legit and now I’m back with the military as a consultant,” Arthur offers as way of explanation. It’s not a lie if you simply omit some parts of the truth. “Look, I should have called—"

It suddenly feels terribly awkward. Telling a woman why he hasn’t called in months is bad enough; it doesn’t get easier mere minutes after he rubbed one out to thoughts of her.

“Arthur,” Ariadne says gently. “I could have called, too. You know, it’s actually the twenty-first century, women are allowed to that now. I just wasn’t sure if that’s—dreamsharing, international crime and all that stuff—if that’s actually something I want to do.”

“Yes, I get it,” Arthur says. "Maybe I don’t want to it anymore, either. I don’t know, I have no fucking idea what I want."

In the darkness of the tent it feels like it’s a secret he can finally admit to himself, even if it’s too late now. He has people to keep safe. “After everything that happened with Cobb it didn’t feel right anymore.”

“I can’t imagine you doing anything else," Ariadne says. "And I didn’t say I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s—fuck, Arthur, it’s the world at our feet, how can we not want it." She glances to the side and straightens. Obviously somebody is waiting for her. "Look, I need to go. But we should talk about this soon, okay?"

"Paris at this time of the year is lovely," Arthur says, squeezing the words out around a lump in his throat. "I think I’m overdue for a visit anyways."

"You better come soon,then, " Ariadne says, shrugging into her jacket while still talking to her phone. The screen gets shaky and then black before her face comes back into view. "You owe me so fucking much for almost making me late for my appointment and also, those rumors about the French being good lovers are grossly exaggerated."

xxx

It's hot. It's so fucking hot that Arthur is starting to feel dizzy with it. The lush green around him wavers before his eyes, leaves and grass contorting into elongated shapes that seem to have a life of their own. Arthur takes another swig from his water bottle and wipes the sweat from his eyes before he adjusts his grip on yet another semi-automatic. His shot misses the mark by inches. "Fuck!"

"Say that again," Jim huffs next to him. "I can't even tell if it’s me or the gun that's out of order."

"I feel like I’ve been out of order since I boarded that plane." Another shot, another miss. Arthur doesn’t even bother to hide the annoyed grunt that’s tearing its way up from the back of his throat. "I mean, it’s always like that. At first, but it usually gets easier." Arthur carefully measures the distance to their target, a plastic dummy painted in camouflage that’s barely visible in the thicket, takes the time to adjust his aim before he takes his shot. He misses by about three inches.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Jim’s shot hits the dummy dead center, making it sway precariously like there’s a real person hidden in the green. He shoots Arthur a sideway glance and completely fails to not look smug about it. "You’ve been around a lot then. Let me guess, Iraq?"

Arthur misses another shot, ostentatiously ignoring the question. He carefully stows away the gun and labels it as under-no-circumstances-ever before he chooses a submachine.

"Top secret, huh?" Jim nods curtly in acknowledgement. "I’ve seen some shit you wouldn’t believe is possible. It’s hard sometimes, to know all these things and not being able to talk about them."

"Actually, I have no problem with that at all," Arthur says, not raising to the bait. The dummy goes down in a satisfying shower of smithereens, but something is off in the air around them, the change so sudden it’s chafing Arthur’s skin.

"Do you hear that?" he asks.

Jim looks at him, his brow furrowed. "Not a single thing."

"Yeah."

And that’s it. The world around them has gone silent, the lack of sound wafting thickly through the humid air.

Jim seems to sense it, too, and motions for Arthur to follow. They retreat slowly, carefully scanning their surroundings.

There’s nothing there. Nothing. No bird, no squirrel, just nothing, like every living being is holding its breath. Arthur’s neck prickles with something like fear and he curses silently.

The sound starts slow, almost inaudible, but in the thick silence it might as well be a cannon shot. It’s thin and high, an uncanny chirping sound that makes Arthur think of childhood nightmares.

He curses some more. Arthur isn’t sure if this is some kind of punishment or just Miller’s very special brand of humor. Frankly, he doesn’t care.

"Shh…" Jim nods towards a thicket of tall ferns, gesturing for Arthur to follow. They approach slowly, and now Arthur can see that something is standing in the cover of the large leaves. Whatever it is, it’s big, flickering in and out of view.

"Motherfucker," Jim breathes. He lifts his rifle calmly—

Arthur tenses, every muscle in his body locking with alarm. He’s seen Jim jump at the slightest sound, talked him into sleep more than once. He should be downright terrified, and Arthur—

Arthur can’t remember how he got here.

xxx

Arthur wakes in his tent to darkness and the soft sound of rain.

It all makes sense now and none at all. How he’s been tired all the time, thinking it was a badly formulated compound when in fact he was the one who was sedated; Jim’s endless questions. He can only guess what they want from him: information about the illegal side of dreamsharing, how to incept someone who’s actually done the impossible. Yesterday Arthur would have sworn they wouldn’t know anything about inception even if it stared them right in the face. Today he isn’t sure anymore, and that’s what scares him most.

He’s let this go on for way too long, fettered by some misguided sense of honor, the misconception that he might be something other than a criminal after the wake-up call of Cobb’s monumental fuck-up. But the truth is that Arthur is a thief and a criminal and he’s been— he actually is okay with that and the life it allows him.

It’s time to remember that.

xxx

Sometimes Arthur surprises himself.

For a brief second he’d entertained the thought of killing Miller. It was a good thought, dancing right at the tip of his fingers, but it would have achieved nothing and so the only person he killed today was Arthur Harris. He’ll need new papers, new bank accounts, fuck, even a new house, and he’ll owe a million favors to a lot of people by the time he’s found out what the military really wants from him.

For now, the only crimes he committed in the last two days are stealing a truck and credit card fraud.

xxx

"Arthur," Ariadne blinks at him. She opens the door once she recognizes him, but she still blocks the entrance as if she can’t believe it’s actually Arthur standing before her.

"Can I come in?" Arthur wants to say a million things, but all the words he carefully practiced on the plane now seem to be nothing but a product of too much stale coffee.

Ariadne cocks her head, looking him up and down. Fuck, maybe he got everything wrong, maybe this isn’t what she wanted, but then Ariadne punches him in the chest, surprisingly hard for such a small person.

"You’re late," she says, right before she kisses him.

It’s fast and messy and everything Arthur wants. They end up on the floor of the living room, too impatient to make it to the bed. He kisses Ariadne’s stomach, her hipbone, every strip of skin he reveals while he’s tugging impatiently at her sleeping pants.

"Get to work, or I might actually fall asleep again," Ariadne pants. Arthur’s hair is too short for her to get a grip, and so she guides him between her legs with both her hands against the back of his head. Arthur licks the crease of skin by her pussy, rubs his stubble against it until she shivers and rolls her hips into him.

“Come on,” she says, her voice tight with impatience. Arthur nips her inner thigh for it, smiling against the skin.

He strokes her slowly, parts her folds only to find her wet and ready, throbbing against the pad of his finger. She moans, urging him on with hands and sounds, her thighs gripping him hard when he replaces his finger with his mouth.

God, Arthur loves his. He loves eating pussy, the taste and smell of her arousal, wet and slick against his mouth.

He traces Ariadne’s outer lips with his tongue, long, hard swipes that make her bow her back, exhaling sharply. He smiles against her cunt, lets her know how much he enjoys it before he opens his mouth and kisses her right there, fucking her with his tongue, sloppy and greedy. He mouths over her clit, pressing against it with strong licks before he moves again.

"Lick me," Ariadne pants, "Arthur, god, please…"

Arthur looks up at her. She’s beautiful like this, head thrown back with her eyes closed, completely lost in her own pleasure. Arthur’s cock throbs and he can feel himself leaking into his underwear, his hips grinding against the floor, seeking friction. He remembers this, too, the noises she made—

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ariadne swears when he licks her from asshole to clit, the tip of his tongue hard against her hole before he softens it and laves her slit with broad sweeps. He licks into her, fucks her with his tongue and adds two fingers, licking between them and around until he can feel her body tense, teetering on the edge. She grinds against his nose, and Arthur lets himself be led where she wants him, sealing his mouth over her clit, hot and wet over where she’s throbbing against him. He doesn’t tease and sucks her hard, matching his beat to the way her pussy clenches around his fingers, and then she’s there, arching against him while she comes with a soundless gasp.

Arthur licks her through it until her hips jerk away from him, too sensitive. He comes with his face pressed into the crease of her thigh, his orgasm ripping through him fast and blinding, the hard press of the floor against his cock and Ariadne’s taste on his tongue enough to make him come in his pants without a single touch.

Arthur is too tired to move, orgasm and a long-distance flight catching up with him. He’ll just sleep here, with his face tucked against Ariadne’s pussy. It works for about half a minute before he can feel Ariadne shaking with silent laughter against his cheek, her hand soft against the bristle of his hair.

He closes his eyes and smiles.


End file.
